we can't all be gods and superstars
by you'd make a hell of a pirate
Summary: What if teenage Emma hadn't gone to jail? What if, instead, she'd met a boy called Killian Jones? (Modern, Teenage AU of sorts)
1. Chapter 1

**Well, Modern AU, here we go! It'll be angsty, it will probably be irregularly updated, but I'm looking forward to this...**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any lyrics used.**

* * *

 _With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean_

 _She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene_

\- Angel of Small Death & The Codeine Scene, Hozier

* * *

Killian Jones ties his boat to the dock and steps carefully onto the boardwalk. The brisk night air bites at his fingers as he makes his way towards the storefronts which line the docks. Only one still has its dim lights on at this time of night; Killian pushes open the door to the familiar café and orders a coffee. He pays with a smile, returning his wallet to his back pocket before taking his usual seat. As he thinks to himself how strange the place looks while it's so empty, he hears the door open and looks up, wondering who else would be around here this late. His eyes briefly meet those of the girl who enters before he looks back down into his coffee, momentarily startled by them. They're tired eyes; lonely. When he glances back up, thankful that she is no longer looking his way, he is also surprised to see that she is his age, maybe younger. He is even more surprised to find, a moment later, her hands placing another mug across the table from him.

"Hi," she says. Killian's eyes trail up from her hands to her face, and looking at her properly for the first time he finds that she's quite pretty. He smiles easily at her.

"Hey," he replies. He takes a sip of his coffee, the mug warming his stiff fingers. "What brings you out here?" The girl shrugs.

"The scenery? I don't know, I don't have much else to do," she explains. "What about you?"

"Sailing," he answers. "I'm trying out the sea at night, now that I can." She nods as if in understanding, making the gentle curls at the end of her blonde hair bob slightly.

"You finished school?" Killian chuckles.

"That obvious?" he asks. "I thought I passed for older." The girl smiles slightly, but he senses it's insincere.

"Twenty at a stretch," she says, her eyes tracing over his face and briefly over his figure. Killian lets his own eyes fall, feeling a slight warmth in his cheeks from her gaze.

"Yeah, I'm finished school," he tells her. "Moved into my own place last week. What about you?" She laughs quietly, and it's a hollow sound.

"I don't have time for school," she says.

"I'm sorry I wasted my time on it, to be honest," he replies.

"You're the first person I've met who thinks my way." She brings her mug to her lips, which have a slight sheen on them like she's been wearing lipgloss that has now since faded, and he watches her bring her tongue over her upper lip to lick off the froth left there before he speaks again.

"I'm glad," he says, smiling. She returns her mug to the table and rests her arms on it, leaning slightly towards him. He notices that despite the time of year, she is wearing only a crumpled, sleeveless shirt.

"So what do you want to do?" she asks, and he is confused for a moment as to what she means. She seems to sense this and adds, "Do you want to study, or do you have other plans, or what?"

"I've always wanted to travel," he finds himself telling her. "Just see the world, sail as far as I can and stop whenever and wherever I like." Killian looks down at his hands once he has said this, feeling foolish. "I mean, I know it's ridiculous, I couldn't get far in my boat and it's not a way to earn money, it's just - " She cuts him off before he can continue repeating the criticism he's always been met with when expressing his desire to travel.

"A dream," she finishes. He nods, somewhat sadly.

"Aye. Just a dream."

They sit then in a comfortable silence as they finish their drinks, the warmth of the café close around them as the docks remain in untouched darkness outside. When Killian sets his empty mug down on the table, he is not yet ready to leave the company of the girl sitting across from him. Fortunately, it would seem she feels similarly, as she also pauses before setting her mug down and meeting his eyes. It is clear from her demeanour, her slow glance back at him as she leaves the café, that she is inviting him to follow. There is a small part of him telling him that he shouldn't, but it is drowned out by the way she moves; by the way she doesn't look back once she's out the door to see if he is coming.

He is seconds behind her, the chill of the night hitting him full force as he steps outside. It is difficult to make out anything in the darkness, but she is the only source of movement, and the moonlight makes her hair glow faintly. When she stops walking and turns to him, he jams his hands into his pockets, suddenly nervous and acutely feeling the winter. He wonders, for the first time, what he is doing.

Killian barely has time to finish this thought before she has pulled him into the shadows of an alley, one even the starlight does not reach. He was expecting something like this from the beginning, although he is not quite sure why, and so he is not surprised when her clammy hands wrap around his neck, nor when her warm lips meet his. She tastes like over sugared coffee and loss, and it makes him want to kiss her harder. So he does, his hands moving to her hair as hers make their way to his waist. It is too deep too fast; fast enough for him to know that it is a one-time thing. Her mouth is demanding and her fingers are burning, and it is easy to forget that they are strangers; stuck in pitch blackness in the middle of nowhere.

When she pulls away, he can see nothing, and their heavy breaths are the only sounds filling the night. She rests her head on his shoulder in what he senses is a moment of weakness; in that moment, he sees a lost girl. She kisses him once more, quickly and softly before she is gone.

It is not until he is back in his apartment that Killian realises his wallet is missing, and that he never got her name.


	2. Chapter 2

**And so, the hiatus begins... And with it, a second chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any lyrics used.**

* * *

 _Home is where the heart is_

 _But your heart had to roam_

 _Drifting over bridges_

 _Never to return_

 _Watching bridges burn_

\- Driftwood, Travis

* * *

By the time he registers the absence of his wallet, Killian can do nothing but collapse on his couch with a groan. He throws his keys on the floor in frustration and punches his pillow, cursing himself for ignoring his gut feeling. He gets up and paces the room, a string of colourful swears escaping his lips before he makes his way to the kitchen to grab his half empty bottle of rum. Drinking straight from the bottle, he revels in the familiar burn as the alcohol swims in his mouth, washing away the traces of the girl. He sighs and returns the rum to its cupboard, knowing it will not help him to indulge in another drink. Instead, he trudges to his bedroom and lies face down on top of his covers.

When he wakes up, still in the clothes he wasn't bothered to change, Killian gives himself five minutes to brush his teeth and grab his jacket and keys, and then he is out the door. Without a second of hesitation he begins walking towards the docks; he doesn't know how, but he is going to find this girl.

He begins in the café, which is, in the morning light, in its usual busy state. He walks straight up to the counter with a smile for the owner, who returns it as she always does.

"Killian," she says warmly. "What can I get for you?"

"Nothing for the moment, thank you," he replies. He is somewhat nervous to ask the question he has come to ask. "I was just wondering... The - the girl who came in here last night, do you know who she is?" She raises her eyebrows, seemingly surprised.

"I'm sorry, I don't," she tells him. "Never seen her in here before." Killian frowns.

"Did you happen to see which direction she went?" He is met with a small, knowing smile.

"I was under the impression that you found that out yourself." Killian avoids her eyes as he feels his cheeks burn.

"No, I... I didn't," he says uselessly. He pauses before noticing a customer waiting behind him. "If you find anything out, will you let me know?" he asks, moving to leave.

"Sure thing," she says. He smiles and thanks her before exiting the café once more, deciding to walk down the storefronts the opposite way to the one he'd been led in the night before. He doubts she would have led him towards wherever it is she lives.

He has just reached an unfamiliar road when he stops, realising he has absolutely no idea where or how to start looking. He has to think of something, because his wallet has his cards and ID as well as his loose money.

He finds himself knocking on a stranger's door, and doesn't hesitate to ask the man who opens it if he has, perchance, seen a young blonde girl around recently. The man apologises and says he hasn't, and Killian begins to move from door to door along the street. He realises, about three doors along when he is asked for a more detailed description, that he is unsure how to describe the girl; the people he's asking are not likely to have seen her hollow smiles or other such details he remembers about her. He tries his best, but nevertheless, nobody seems to have seen her or know anyone matching his words. He knows it's a long shot, asking all these people, but he needs to find her.

Three streets later, he is just as determined as he was when he began. Five, and his hope is beginning to dwindle. By mid afternoon he has no idea where he is, but he finds somewhere to eat and uses the few dollars he has in his jacket pocket to pay. He spends more time with his head on the table, racking his mind for any ideas as to where this girl could be, than actually eating, but he's outside and searching again in a matter of minutes. It is when the sky is softened by a pink glow that Killian begins to consider giving up and asking someone for directions to the docks, but it is only a small thought. He continues asking passers by and residents of house after house, door after door, until he is sure that he has seen more faces in one day than he has seen in his past eighteen years; and he looks down alleys and dead ends until it becomes so dark that they are flooded in nothing but shadow.

Killian is wondering how he'll cancel his cards as he begins his trek back, but still he takes a longer route than necessary, looking carefully at each door he passes. Most he recognises - he remembers the woman who answered the door made of glass, and the young lad who opened the door splashed in all the colours of the rainbow, a baby on his hip - but some blend into the background, nondescript. There are a few which were left unanswered when he knocked the first time, so he decides he might as well try again.

His question leaves his mouth almost robotically at each door, and he barely hears the responses. He is just about ready to truly give up and call the bank first thing in the morning as he knocks on his third door, which is answered by a smiley woman with short hair. He manages half a smile back at her as his familiar words tumble from him.

"I think I know who you're talking about," the woman says quietly. Killian replies automatically without registering her answer.

"That's okay, thank you anyway." He has already turned around to leave when her sentence plays back in his head and he whips round to face her. "Wait, you know her?"

"Well, no, not exactly," the woman admits. "But there's a girl like that who lives near school, I see her around there all the time."

"Which school?" The woman pauses.

"Why are you looking for her?" She's suspicious, clearly, but Killian supposes she's only protecting the girl. Which must mean she wants to watch out for her, however little she knows her.

"She stole my wallet and I need it back," he says simply. Best to be honest; he doubts that lying to the woman will get him anywhere.

"Oh." She wears an expression he can't decipher.

"I don't intend to cause trouble," he adds, sincerely. "I just need my wallet." She looks at him for a moment, seemingly sizing him up, before speaking.

"The elementary school two blocks from here," she tells him. "You'll... know where to look."

"Thank you," he says, smiling genuinely now. A voice calls from somewhere in the house.

"Mary Margaret?"

"Be there in a minute, David!" she replies. She turns back to Killian and adds, "By the way, my husband's a cop, so I won't hesitate to involve him if there's any funny business." Killian raises his hands in mock surrender.

"None at all. You have my word," he assures her.

"Then good luck," she says. With a quick nod and smile, he takes his leave.

When he reaches the school, he looks around for only a moment before spotting a yellow car that is clearly out of place. Behind it lies what looks like an abandoned store of some sort, its entrance covered with a panel of corrugated metal. Killian approaches slowly, not sure how to proceed, before knocking gently on the rusting metal. An impatient but unmistakably familiar voice sounds from inside.

"What do you want?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for the faves, follows and kind words! :) Here is the third chapter, where I explore what I think Emma was like at 17 (more vulnerable, less guarded, but wary as always) and Killian's ever trust-inducing ways... Also, one instance of bad language, if anyone needs to know.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any lyrics used.**

* * *

 _Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams_

 _'Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams_

\- Thistle & Weeds, Mumford and Sons

* * *

There is no sound from behind the metal to suggest that the girl has moved, and so Killian assumes she has no intention of coming to the makeshift door.

"I, uh, was wondering if you may know what happened to my wallet," he says. He hears what sounds suspiciously like someone tripping over something, a muttered swear, and then her face appears in the gap between the metal and the wall behind it.

"Shit... How did you even find me?" She looks smaller than he remembers, almost hiding in the dark.

"With no small amount of effort." He offers a smile, but she just sighs and walks back inside.

"Give me a minute and I'll find it," she calls back. After a few moments, she speaks again."Um, come in if you like, it's a little warmer in here."

Killian edges inside through the gap, and almost immediately wishes he had stayed out. The only source of light is the fire burning in the crumbling fireplace, but it is enough for him to see the way the girl is living. The small room is completely crowded with damp cardboard boxes or decaying furniture, and in one corner, a thin mattress covered with blankets lies on the concrete floor. Beside it are a few bags that must belong to her. Killian feels something heavy settle in his chest as he looks around the room, and he barely notices when the girl returns to him, his wallet in her hand.

"This has never happened to me before," she almost whispers. He looks up at her, taking in her halfhearted smile and the darkness beneath her eyes.

"Keep it," he says without thinking. She frowns and takes a small step back from him.

"I don't need your charity." Her tone is less than pleased.

"If you don't need it, love, why did you take it?" Momentarily, she looks as if she is at a loss for words, but then she takes his hand and presses the wallet into his palm, closing his fingers over it.

"Taking is different; that's my choice. I can look after myself," she says. "I don't need your help or anyone else's."

"As you wish." Killian slips the wallet into his pocket. "I didn't mean to offend you," he adds, in a smaller voice. The girl sighs.

"Sorry, I'm not great with... people, I guess," she says. He chuckles.

"Prefer solitude?" She takes a moment to glance around her lonely room before meeting his eyes again, shrugging.

"I guess."

"I understand," he tells her. He holds his hand out towards her with a gentle smile. "Killian Jones, by the way." She shakes his hand somewhat warily, her fingers warm and firm.

"Emma Swan," she replies. He likes the name; it's simple without being uninteresting. Emma lets his hand go and sighs softly. "I guess this is it, then."

"Well, Swan..." Killian trails off, unsure how to phrase his suggestion without offending her. He finds himself scratching the back of his neck nervously, and Emma looks at him with questioning eyes. "I have a spare room, and - "

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she says instantly, cutting him off. He frowns.

"I know you're able to get by for yourself, but I wouldn't feel right leaving you here when I can offer you better." She doesn't bristle as he feared she would, but crosses her arms over her stomach and wears a contemplative expression.

"I - I'm not sure, I don't think I can. I've got..." She pauses, her eyes on the mattress across the room. "I've _almost_ got a place here, and it's not as simple as just leaving to live with the first stranger who offers, and - why should I trust you, anyway?"

"I don't bite," Killian says, uselessly. "Though I suppose all you have to go on is my word." Emma smiles apologetically.

"Your word's not enough, however generous your offer may be."

"Actually, as it happens, the authorities are aware of my whereabouts and my company, so it would be unwise of me to do anything unsavoury." He raises an eyebrow at her, and he can see he's wearing Emma's shield down. Though she may be unwilling to admit it, she is in need, and Killian doesn't want to leave her to become a lost cause.

"I don't even know you," she reminds him.

"You could." Emma breaks eye contact and sighs.

"You don't know what you'd be getting yourself into. This could only end badly."

"I'm willing to try to give you a hand, love, but I won't force you. Give me one day's chance," he suggests. She meets his eyes again, and he can almost see the way her mind is struggling with itself. He wagers she wants to trust him, though he can't be sure.

"One day?" she repeats quietly.

"Aye. As a start." She shivers, still only wearing her sleeveless shirt, and then grimaces as if her choice pains her, moving her hand to clutch the pendant on the silver necklace that hangs around her neck.

"One day. And don't think I won't call the cops if you try anything funny." The deadly serious look on her face gives him the feeling that she would be well able to handle herself without the help of police, if ever she needed to.

"You needn't worry," he assures her. "I have no hostile intentions."

Emma makes her way around the room at a reasonable pace; picking up various items which she may or may not have acquired legally and chucking them into the few bags she has. She stops at the mattress to fold up one blanket, one of white wool finished with purple stitching, and places it carefully at the top of a bag. Once ready, she turns to Killian.

"I just have to do one thing," she says. She tears a small piece from a cardboard box beside her and hunts for a pen; when she finds one, she kneels by the dying fire to write something on the shred. "There's this woman who leaves me stuff sometimes, checks up on me. I don't want her to worry," she explains. With a bottle of water from her rucksack she extinguishes the last of the fire, leaving them only in the meagre glow from the streetlights outside.

"Shall we?" Killian asks. Emma stands, grabbing a key from her back pocket.

"I hope you didn't drive here, because I'm not leaving without my car." He shakes his head.

"Couldn't steer a land vessel if I tried," he says. She smiles at that; a real smile, for once, and he responds with one of his own.

They squeeze through the gap between brick and metal on after the other, and Emma places her note just inside, under the foot of a worn chair so it won't blow away. Her belongings are thrown into the back seat before she sits behind the wheel, Killian taking his place in the passenger seat. Following his directions, they reach his apartment block in a surprisingly short length of time, and after two flights of stairs they reach his door.

Once inside his apartment, Killian is surprised to find the clock only reading eleven. He takes two glasses out of the cupboard and fills them with water, handing one to Emma, who takes it gratefully.

"I do have rum, if you'd prefer," he says, half joking, taking a sip from his glass.

"I... can't drink." Emma places a hand on her tummy and glances downwards, and Killian joins the dots and chokes on his water. He grasps the counter with one hand and pounds his chest with the other.

"Ready to kick me out now, right?" she asks, the hint of sarcasm not reaching her sad eyes. He meets her gaze and wonders how she ended up where she is. He doesn't ask.

"I have tea, as well," he says calmly, turning away to fill the kettle and switch it on. When he turns back, Emma has tears in her eyes, but neither one of them mentions it.

After a wordless round of tea, Killian shows Emma where to find everything and leads her to his sparsely furnished spare room. He wishes her a shy goodnight and turns to leave, but she hugs him, quickly and tightly, and he feels his cheeks redden.

"Thank you," she whispers before letting him go, and he gives her a small smile in reply.

He falls asleep hoping she'll still be there when he wakes up.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, um... I still exist and stuff... I just wanted to say that some of this was written before there was extra background information on Killian (basically I have different meanings for his rings) and for those of you still reading, I hope you enjoy! X**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any lyrics used.**

* * *

 _Is there anybody going to listen to my story_

 _All about the girl who came to stay?_

 _She's the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry_

 _Still you don't regret a single day_

\- Girl, The Beatles

* * *

When Killian wakes, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and clambers out of his bed, grabbing a shirt on the way. He is halfway through his groggy trek to the kitchen when he remembers, in a rush of warmth, that he is not alone. At least, he sincerely hopes he isn't. Pulling on his shirt, he enters the kitchen to find an equally drowsy looking Emma. His heart clenches in his chest at the sight of her nearly falling asleep at the breakfast counter, because somewhere along the line, she decided she could stay.

"Morning, love," he says easily, smiling to himself as she predictably jumps in her seat. She glares at him, and he notices the darkness beneath her eyes is more pronounced in the sunlight. "Did you get lost on your way to the coffee?"

"I might have," Emma mumbles. Killian smiles, pulls out a mug from one cupboard, coffee from another, and switches the kettle on.

"Any plans on this fine day?" he asks. He glances outside, where the sun glistens on leaves which iced over in the dead of night.

"None worth talking about," she replies. He holds back a frown at the thought of her less than legal means of acquiring money.

"Why don't you come out with me?" Killian suggests. She opens her mouth, presumably to decline his offer, but he cuts her off. "To find a job," he says. Emma simply sighs and shrugs, looking too worn out to argue or voice her distaste for the idea.

"Good luck finding someone who'll hire me." He frowns.

"We'll find someone. Fear not."

"I don't... I didn't even finish school," she says quietly. Killian shrugs.

"I doubt it will present much of a problem if you fail to mention it." Emma doesn't look convinced, but the kettle clicks off behind Killian so he turns to make the coffee.

"Sugar?" he asks, glancing back at her.

"I can do it," she says, sliding off the stool at his counter with what appears to be much more effort than necessary.

"I don't mind." He smiles reassuringly, but she tries to take charge anyway. She inspects the cupboards with glazed eyes before turning to him.

"I don't quite remember where the sugar actually is," she admits, looking very much like she regrets getting up at all. He opens the cupboard above the kettle, retrieving the sugar while she leans against the counter in tired defeat.

"How many?"

"Three." Killian raises an eyebrow.

"I don't particularly _like_ coffee, I'd just like to wake up a bit."

"As you wish," he says, adding the sugar to her mug before handing it over. Emma takes it and thanks him sheepishly.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asks after a moment of silence, looking up at him with curious eyes.

"Not originally," he replies. "My family hails from England, we moved here when I was too young a lad to remember."

"Any siblings?" For just a second, his heart burns.

"A brother. He's not around anymore," Killian says simply. He can see all the questions she wants to ask, but she settles for "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Swan," he says, turning away to reach into a cupboard. He takes out a box of cereal, holding it up. "Breakfast?" She nods.

"What about you?" he asks as he gets a pair of bowls and places them on the counter. "Are you from around here?"

"I've lived here all my life, I guess." She doesn't continue, so he doesn't ask. Instead he gets two spoons and heads to the fridge while Emma sits back down at the breakfast counter, coffee in hand. He returns with a carton of milk and sits beside her, offering her the cereal.

"So, about that job," he starts, and she throws him a somewhat sad look as she passes him the milk.

"Like I said, I don't think people are exactly going to be lining up to hire me."

"I think I may know someone," Killian says.

"Really?" She sounds suspicious, but he doesn't miss the way her eyes light up ever so slightly.

"Aye, love."

"Well, I guess we can give it a shot," she says. He smiles.

Killian hasn't quite had the time to get used to living alone yet, which must explain how strangely comfortable it is to eat a quiet breakfast with Emma by his side. She traces the rings he wears on his right hand with her fingers, and he shivers. She glances up at him, spoon halfway to her mouth.

"Family heirlooms?" she asks. He nods and holds up his left hand.

"Except this one," he tells her. "This one I found myself." She takes his hand in hers to inspect the last ring, twisting it once around his pinky.

"That one's my favourite," she says, letting his hand drop back down to the counter and returning her attention to her breakfast. Killian eyes the pendant on her necklace, now close enough for him to make out that it has a small silver swan on it.

"It was a gift," Emma says quietly, following his gaze. She takes the pendant in her hand as she finishes the last of her cereal, and then she runs a hand through her hair.

"I should go wash up," she says.

"Of course." He takes the dishes to the sink and she thanks him before making her way to the bathroom. Killian allows himself a small moment to wonder what the hell he's gotten himself into, his head falling into his hands, and then he takes a deep breath and goes to get dressed.

He's in the middle of doing the dishes when Emma emerges with wet hair and a small smile, and the word 'content' flickers through his mind.

"Bathroom's free," she says with an ease that belies the length of her stay. He smiles at her.

"Just a moment." By the time he's washed up, he finds her drying the dishes. He's about to take them from her when she holds a hand up.

"I can do it," she says. Killian steps back while she opens a number of cupboards and drawers, eventually returning the dishes to their places, then turns to him proudly.

"Ready?" he asks. Emma nods.

"Let's go."

Killian knows the path to the docks like the back of his hand, leading Emma there without incident. They bustle in the sunlight, fishermen setting off with nets in hand while people in suits rush past on their way to begin the day's work. He glances to his side to find Emma looking curiously at the faces swimming by, and she walks into someone with a small crash.

"Sorry," she says instantly, flashing a quick smile. The man simply shakes his head and keeps walking until Killian calls him back, catching sight of Emma's hand.

"Sir, I think you dropped something." Killian takes the wallet from her, avoiding her eyes, and holds it out to the man, who has turned back to look at him.

"Thank you," he says, taking his wallet. He continues on his way, and Killian turns to see Emma's eyes on him.

"Old habits die hard," he says, a statement rather than questioning her. She looks away, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, and they keep walking.

He takes her to the café where they met only two nights before, leading her up to the counter once it's free.

"Killian." The owner greets him with a smile and nods at Emma. "What can I do for you both?"

"I was wondering if you may have a job opening around here," he says, getting straight to the point. "My friend here is in need of work."

"Well," she replies, looking thoughtful. "As it happens, my granddaughter just left for college. It's left me short of a few hands. If you're willing to pick up the slack, I'd be happy to have you on board." Emma looks at Killian, who smiles reassuringly.

"I - I'd love to," she says.

"Then welcome aboard, Miss..."

"Swan," Emma finishes, holding out a hand. "Emma Swan."

"Mrs Lucas." The old woman smiles and shakes Emma's hand. "Can you start tomorrow?"

"Of course," Emma says, smiling in a way Killian hasn't seen before. "Thank you so much, Mrs Lucas."

"No problem." Mrs Lucas turns to deal with another customer, and Emma looks up at Killian.

"Wow," she says, smile still in place.

"Told you I knew someone, love." He grins, and her hand finds his, squeezing it once before she lets go.

"Thank you."

* * *

Killian shows Emma around the docks, leading her down paths and boardwalks until she has a grasp of the place. They grab dinner at the café before they begin the walk back home.

"It was the sea," she says quietly, looking out at the water as the sun sets. Killian, confused, waits for her to continue. "The night we met, that's why I was out here. I just wanted to see the sea." He follows her gaze, watching the sun's glow fade over the waves.

"I understand," he says.

If either of them is surprised that Emma is still there the next morning, neither one mentions it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Now we get to know these two a little better... I was very excited to see that some of you are still reading this, so thank you to both old and new readers alike for the follows, favourites and kind words :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any lyrics used.**

* * *

 _That was the night that she broke down and held my hand_

 _The teenage rush_

 _She said, "Ain't we all just runaways? We got time"_

 _Well that ain't much_

\- Runaways, The Killers

* * *

Killian is about to pick up the phone when Emma reaches for it, knocking his hand out of the way. He throws her a dirty look.

"I'm paying," she says, her determination clear in the firm set of her mouth. He puts his hands up in mock surrender.

"I don't know why I let you push me around, Swan," he mumbles. With a smug smile, she holds up the money she got from cashing in her first pay check.

"Because I'm the breadwinner now," she says. He can't help the answering grin that spreads across his face, or the pride that blossoms in his chest at her achievement. He hands over the menu for the takeout they agreed on.

"If it means eating less of your cooking..." She slaps him on the arm but grimaces, presumably thinking about the unexpectedly crunchy pasta they ate the night before.

"It means you get to do the dishes more," she says, dialling the relevant number and pressing the phone to her ear. After her first morning, she had completely refused to let him wash his own dishes, insisting that she had to do something to earn her keep.

"Deal." He shakes her hand once to make it official, and she smiles.

"Should we watch something?" Emma asks after she hangs up the phone, gesturing towards the pile of DVDs and videos he keeps beside a small TV.

"If you'd like," Killian says. He goes to kneel by them and she follows, reading the titles with her head tilted. After a moment, she glances up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"These are all kids' movies."

"They are not!" he says instantly. "They're classics!" She smirks at his indignation, returning her gaze to the DVDs.

"If you say so..."

"Which one is your favourite?" he asks, and she looks back up at him. "Come, love, you must have one."

" _Aladdin_ ," she says easily. He should have figured she'd pick the one with a misunderstood thief. "What's yours?" He pulls out his copy of the first _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and hands it to her. She opens the case, smiling when she sees a slip of paper inside reading 'Killian Jones' in handwriting he has clearly since grown out of.

"I took it to school once," he explains, scratching the back of his neck.

"And did they play it?"

"Sadly not," he admits.

"Then I know what we're watching," she says. She puts the disc in, and he navigates the trailers and menu like familiar waters. They're only a few minutes in when the food arrives, and he watches Emma proudly hand over the money she's earned before returning to the couch, every feature glowing with satisfaction.

"I paid for this whole meal by myself," she tells him, and she's never looked more beautiful. "I didn't steal one cent."

"Right you are," he says, warmth flowing through him. She catches him looking; he might see her blush, but it's difficult to tell in the low light.

"Don't let all my work go to waste." She offers him a slice of pizza from the box between them, which he takes without another word.

When dinner is finished and the credits begin to roll, Killian looks over to see Emma seemingly deep in thought.

"Swan?" She meets his eyes, but he can see her mind is elsewhere. "Would you like to go to the roof?" She blinks at him, and something in her gaze whispers of trouble.

"Okay," she says quietly.

He leads her upstairs and out the door to the roof in silence, grateful to see that they are alone once they've stepped into the cool air. The stars struggle to break through the gloom of the city, but those that have won their fight shine in earnest. They sit near the edge, leaning back against a rough wall with a single black door warning them to keep out. Emma watches the stars wordlessly, and Killian keeps his eyes fixed on her.

"Are you alright, Emma?" he asks after a number of minutes, worry bubbling low in his stomach.

"Perfect," she says, her eyes never leaving the sky. She shivers, arms wrapping around her small frame before Killian drapes his jacket over her shoulders. She pulls it tighter around herself and thanks him in a whisper.

"I won't make you talk to me, but I've only known you for a matter of weeks and even I can tell that something is bothering you," he offers gently. Finally, Emma looks him in the eye, searching for something that he hopes she's found when she sighs softly and places a hand over her still flat midsection, looking down as she does.

"I'm just thinking about this," she says slowly. He's at a loss, because he knows next to nothing about pregnancy and even less about her particular situation, but he has to keep her talking because this is the first time she's tried to speak about it. The show of vulnerability is an offer of trust that he can't ignore.

"About what you're going to do?" he guesses, his voice low and soft. She nods and begins to trace circles around where a baby must be.

"I have to give him his best chance," she whispers. Killian knows, from the way her breath hitches, from the silence that follows, that this means giving the child to someone else. But there is more, her body screaming the words she won't say, and he can read every one on her face as if from the pages of a book.

"You don't want to abandon him, like you were abandoned." Emma stiffens.

"I ran away," she says fiercely.

"But you didn't run from your home, did you? You ran from the system," he says before he can stop himself.

"What makes you so sure?" When she turns to face him, he can almost see her irritation simmering.

"Your eyes," he admits. "I've been in my fair share of foster homes. I know what it looks like to lose hope." Her anger fizzes out almost instantly, and this time, he turns away.

"Oh," she says, like a sigh. Her hand finds his in the darkness, and he feels her twine their fingers together. They stay quiet, an unspoken deal passing between them that agrees that their stories do not need to be told tonight.

"There are many children who find homes," he says finally. "I'm sure you've seen it happen. There are plenty who grow up unaware of their beginnings. I don't think that the ones who find family are an exception to the rule; I think that people like us are."

"So you think it's the right thing to do?"

"I think that it's your decision, and you should do whatever feels right to you." Emma's grip on his hand tightens slightly.

"I don't know."

"You don't need to know yet, love," Killian says, squeezing her hand once. "Have you seen him?" Emma looks somewhat taken aback.

"No, I - I don't even know if it's actually a boy," she admits. "It just feels like one."

"Maybe that's a good place to start," he suggests. She mulls it over.

"Maybe," she says. Then she turns her head, her eyes searching again. "Why are you doing this?" He pauses, because he isn't quite sure. It's too late to turn back, but even if he were given the opportunity, he doesn't think he'd take it. There is a driving force behind his feelings that he hasn't figured out yet, but he tells her what he knows to be true.

"Because you deserve your best chance too." Her gaze softens, and she lets her head fall onto his shoulder. He's sure the conversation is over for the night until she speaks in an almost unintelligible whisper.

"He left," she says, like the words are being torn from her, and it's a spark that starts a fire in his chest. "He said he loved me, but he left."

There is nothing he can say that will heal the hurt another left behind, so he stays silent, letting go of her hand to take her into his arms. It could be hours before they make their way back downstairs, the warmth of the building pressing in on them as they reach their door. She thanks him in an impossibly small voice before they part ways, and he knows. He knows, his heart burning as he lies in his bed, that he is not leaving her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you guys for the support :) I'm mostly going on my experience here for details; I haven't had a baby (yet) but I've been around for quite a few pregnancies. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any lyrics used.**

* * *

 _My love, we're made of the same old stuff_

 _Same old stuff_

 _It's not hard, just look at how close we are_

 _Instead of how far_

\- Same Old Stuff, The Feeling

* * *

"Are you doing anything today?" Killian is startled to see Emma sitting at the counter expectedly when he walks into the kitchen, for once more awake than he is at this time of the morning.

"Nothing beyond the usual," he replies once he's gotten his bearings, running a hand through his wet hair.

"I called Mrs. Lucas to get the day off."

"Right," he says slowly, confused.

"I, um, I was going to get an ultrasound, and I thought that maybe - well, if you wanted... I don't really want to go by myself," she gushes. Her cheeks are faintly pink, and he can see her hand clenched around the edge of the counter, far more nervous than her tone lets on.

"Of course I'll go," he says. She answers by way of a smile, her body visibly relaxing. He goes to make breakfast, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder as he passes her.

"The appointment's at 11," she tells him as he finds the last of the bread to put in the toaster. He glances at the clock; quarter past ten.

"How long will it take to get there?"

"About ten minutes, I think," she says, slipping off her seat. "If we drive." She fills the kettle, clicking it on as Killian gets two mugs out of the cupboard.

"Then I say we drive," he replies, and hands her the coffee. When the toaster pops, moments before the kettle clicks off, he butters the toast while Emma pours the water, and he gives her one of the two slices. There is a rhythm to this, to her, and he has learned it.

They arrive at the hospital early, following the directions they're given to find a small, painfully bright waiting room. They sit side by side in plastic chairs, facing the clock.

"You alright, love?" Killian asks, placing his hand over hers. He's felt Emma begin to tense against him as the minute hand travels at a near snail like pace towards the hour.

"I'm good," she says, but she doesn't relax. Instead, she turns their hands over, eyeing Killian's tattoo. She has seen it before - it would be a feat to hide when they live together - but now she brushes his sleeve up to reveal the name and runs a finger over it. His heart skips a beat, but he doesn't move away.

"Who's Milah?" she asks, like she's built herself up for it.

"Someone from long ago," he answers plainly. She glances up at him, her brow furrowed.

"How could that be if you're meant to be eighteen to get a tattoo?" The question is so unexpected, he finds himself grinning. He takes her left hand and turns it palm up, so the flower on her wrist is in full view.

"Miss Swan, I don't believe you're one to talk." She smiles back.

"That's different," she says, letting him trace the petals with his thumb. "I was the problem child everywhere I went." Killian chuckles.

"So was I," he tells her. "Had to show off your rebellious spirit, did you?"

"I had my ways," she says with an air of mischief.

"Emma Swan?" They look up in unison to see that someone has emerged from the door opposite to their seats, calling her name with a stern face. A heavily pregnant woman, presumably the previous patient, offers them a smile before she makes her way down the corridor. Killian feels like he's just had a bucket of cold water thrown over him at the sight of the burden Emma will have to carry in a few months' time. He stands up almost reflexively when Emma does; she looks at least twice as frightened as he feels.

"Are you coming?" she asks, and he realises he has absolutely no idea if he's meant to.

"Do you want me to?" His voice comes out sounding appropriately confused.

"Do you want to?" They both pause, looking silently at one another, and then he takes her hand and they enter the room together.

This room is almost comically darker than the last, and it takes a moment for Killian's eyes to adjust enough for him to make out a relatively simple exam room. The doctor sits in the chair by the screen and gestures to the bed. Emma sits tentatively on the edge of it, and Killian isn't quite sure what he's meant to do with himself. He settles for standing beside her.

"Are you the father?" the doctor asks, briefly looking him over. He feels his cheeks warming uncomfortably.

"No." She raises her eyebrows in a manner that clearly if quietly voices her disapproval as she glances at Emma and then back to a file, and a wave of anger washes over Killian. His hands ball into fists, but Emma takes one in both of hers before he has the chance to say anything. He looks down to see her shake her head once, her eyes pleading. His hand relaxes between hers, and, reluctantly, he stays silent.

"This is your first pregnancy, I assume?"

"Yes." The doctor writes the answers to what must be routine questions in the file in front of her.

"And how old are you?"

"Seventeen," Emma says, almost too quietly to hear.

"When was your last period?" Killian nearly collapses. Emma blushes, but something in his expression must amuse her, because it looks like she's holding back a smile.

"October 28th."

"You can lie back there," the doctor says a moment later, reaching for a bottle of something. Emma does so, letting Killian's hand go. She's handed a towel and asked to lift her shirt, and he averts his eyes. He probably should have stayed outside, because he's on the brink of melting. He's never felt so out of place. A sharp intake of breath grounds him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and he returns his attention to Emma to see her looking uncomfortable, a bluish gel on her bare tummy.

"It's cold," she explains, and then some sort of device is pressed into the gel, its wire leading back to the screen by the bed. After a moment, the doctor turns the screen to face them.

"There's your baby," she says, and it's like stepping out of a dream. Killian stares as she points out a head, arms and legs, and finally manages to show a visibly beating heart. It makes him acutely aware of his own as it pounds against his ribs, because this is the first time he has truly acknowledged the reality of this. There is a whole potential person growing behind the scenes. When he tears his gaze away from the screen, he sees Emma's widened eyes flicking between it and her body, almost confused. He's completely lost, but he reaches out to squeeze her shoulder in the hopes that it will make some difference. She looks up at him and lets out a deep breath that she must have been holding.

"From the looks of it," the doctor continues, as if the world didn't just shake, "and with the dates you've given me, I'd say you're about 11 weeks along, which would put your due date at around August 10th." Emma regains some of her composure.

"That's a while away," she says, more to herself than anyone else.

"Aye," Killian agrees. He's stuck between relief at the distant date and the suddenly overwhelming disbelief that Emma will give birth to a living, breathing baby.

By the time they leave, they've both somewhat recovered from their daze. Emma has been given a few printouts from the scan and has been told that if she comes back in a few weeks' time, they should be able to tell the sex of the baby. She makes no move to drive once they're in the car, looking through the pictures again.

"He has hands," she mumbles. Killian hasn't the slightest idea what to say. "I mean, I knew, but I also... didn't know. If you get me."

"I think I do," he says. She puts the pictures down and looks out through the window.

"I'm a kid." Her voice is tinged with sadness, but steady. "I don't think... I couldn't raise one." It's not the tearful or dramatic decision he half expected. She is calm and clear, and he feels a weight lift from his shoulders. He realises he never took the time to think what would happen if she had decided otherwise.

"You're sure?" he asks. Her hand flies to her swan pendant.

"I think so," she says. "It feels right. Like what I'm meant to do."

"Now we wait." Emma smiles.

"Now we wait," she agrees. "And thank you, by the way."

"For what?" She shrugs.

"You know, for coming, and staying with me."

"Any time," he says, and he means it. "Though I must admit it would have been easier to keep you company with someone less judgemental in the room." Emma's hand, on the way to put the key in the ignition, falls back into her lap. She's about to protest, but he continues. "She shouldn't have looked at you like that."

"Killian," she says gently, and he pauses, because she rarely uses his name. "People are going to look at me like that. I'm going to swell up, and have to walk around with a baby bump, and people are going to give me that look everywhere I go." His heart sinks.

"It isn't right."

"No, it isn't. And I hate it, I wish there was something I could do to avoid it, but the truth is that I've had countless people look at me like I'm a street rat and this is just a variation of the same judgement." Her eyes meet his. "You can't tell me you don't know that look."

He does, of course he does; the presumptuous ' _I_ would have done better' look from people who don't have the slightest understanding of the situation. Killian has learned to take it in his stride when he's on the receiving end of it, but the doctor wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Emma.

"That's one battle we can't win," she says. "You and I, we understand each other. But not everyone will."

It's a small victory, but it is enough.


End file.
